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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020498">I will burn these bridges (while standing on them)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp'>SerotoninUp</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lucifer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Depends on your perspective I suppose, F/M, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, No Beta, Possibly a happy ending, Possibly an Unhappy Ending, Post-Season/Series 04, light fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:01:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Lucifer leaves Hell to visit Chloe, and one time he doesn't.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I will burn these bridges (while standing on them)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I.</p>
<p>He arrives with the dawn.</p>
<p>The first brilliant rays of sunlight peek through the curtains, and even asleep, her brow wrinkles in protest at the invasion. Lucifer lands quietly between the bed and the window, casting his shadow over her, a gentler awakening than the bright light of day.</p>
<p>Chloe stretches languorously, shirt riding up to show soft, creamy skin; his mouth goes dry at the sight. She rolls to her side with a sigh, curling into herself, and then her eyes blink open slowly and she pulls him into focus, into reality.</p>
<p>She rocks up onto her knees, inhaling sharply. Her eyes travel over his face, his suit, his hands, taking in his wild curls, the streaks of ash on his clothes, the grime under his nails. She lifts her hand, fingers outstretched as if to touch him, but then withdraws, uncertain. A stillness pervades the room; the susurration of his own pulse whites out all other sound as he waits for her to react, to do something, say anything. </p>
<p>"You’re real," she breathes. Her sleep-roughened voice sings through his heart, the sweetest music he's heard in years.</p>
<p>"Yes," he chokes out, and then she's in his arms.</p>
<p>After, she snuggles into him, and he wraps his arms around her, glorying in the feeling of her bare skin against his. She presses soft, quick kisses to his jawline, his shoulder, his chest, until laughter rumbles through him; he slides his fingers over her collarbone and up her throat to nudge beneath her chin, tilting her face to gently capture her mouth with his. She rests one hand on his hip, tracing slow, soothing circles with her thumb, and curls the other between them on the pillow, her knuckles grazing his cheek.</p>
<p>"Can you stay?" she whispers. Her impossibly blue eyes snare him; the hopeful yearning in her gaze renders him mute. Sorrow swoops low in his belly, and he tightens his arms around her. She sighs, burying her face in the hollow of his throat.</p>
<p>"No," he says, his voice thick. "Not yet."</p>
<p>Her tears dapple his skin, each delicate, burning drop an exquisite punishment that he accepts as no less than he deserves for the sin of abandoning her once again. Her lips find his, and she kisses him fervently, rocking her hips against him. The heat of her is sweet agony, and he gives himself over to her desire, begging forgiveness with his mouth and hands and body.</p>
<p>He places a feather on the pillow when he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>II.</p>
<p>The sun is at its zenith when he lands on the penthouse balcony, its brilliant light contrasting too sharply with the dim, chaotic battlefield he left behind in Hell. Gore coats his leathers, remnants of the final battle of a decades-long war. He sighs, frustrated, no closer to resolving the unrest in Hell than he was when he left Earth for good. And how long ago had that been? Five years? Twenty? Fifty?</p>
<p>Not once did he feel fear during this latest conflict, but now it slithers through his veins, twisting his stomach into knots and leaving a sour taste on his tongue.</p>
<p>His penthouse looks exactly as it did when he left. No dust mars the uncovered furniture; the piano waits patiently, as if knowing he’d return to dance his talented fingers across the keys once again. The care and attention paid to his home calms him, tells him that someone still thinks of him. He’s not too late.</p>
<p>He can't go to her dripping with the blood of his enemies, so he shucks off his filthy clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and disappears into the bathroom for a long, luxurious shower.</p>
<p>When he emerges, tucking his towel around his waist, she's there.</p>
<p>He stops at the top of the bedroom steps and just stares, shocked into silence by her unexpected presence. She kneels next to his bloodied leathers, one hand hovering over the filthy pile, the other pressed against her mouth as if she might be sick. He makes a small sound of protest, ashamed of subjecting her to such proof of his monstrous side – the Devil, the King of Hell, a merciless creature that slew a legion of demons without restraint or remorse, who gazed victoriously upon the unspeakable carnage of a blood-soaked battlefield and pronounced it good.</p>
<p>She looks up, eyes wide.</p>
<p>He freezes, waiting – for judgment, for rejection, for her to come to her senses and run away. Instead, she rushes to him, frantic, running her hands over his body and letting out small, hitching sobs.</p>
<p>"Chloe," he says, bringing his arms up around her, pressing her to him and forcing her to stillness. "Chloe, everything's fine."</p>
<p>"Lucifer," she breathes, still trying to look him over, "I thought it was your blood. I thought you were hurt -"</p>
<p>"I’m fine, love," he reassures her. "It’s not mine."</p>
<p>She wraps her arms around his waist and lays her head against his chest, as if seeking reassurance from the sound of his steady heartbeat. He closes his eyes, presses his cheek to her crown, and simply holds her, taking comfort in her warmth and concern, allowing the tension of the battlefield to slip away. With her, he feels safe.</p>
<p>He feels loved.</p>
<p>Too soon, she steps away from him, twining her fingers with his and gazing up at him. Her expression, wistful yet resigned, pierces his heart.</p>
<p>"I’m gonna assume, since you showed up covered in blood, that there are still issues in Hell and this will be a short visit."</p>
<p>His throat tightens; he doesn't trust his voice, so he simply nods.</p>
<p>"In that case," she says, mouth curving in a small smile that doesn't quite conceal the disappointment in her eyes, "You should get rid of this." She tugs off his towel and gently pushes him backward onto the bed.</p>
<p>As he falls, he grabs her wrist, pulling her down onto the silky, soft sheets with him.</p>
<p>He slips a feather into the pocket of her discarded jeans when he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>III.</p>
<p>It's mid-afternoon when he lands on the sidewalk a few doors down from what he hopes is still Chloe's apartment.</p>
<p>A car pulls up; the driver honks the horn, and a petite brunette teenager bursts through the apartment door, grinning. She turns and shouts "Bye, mom! Bye, Dave!" before slamming the door shut. The latch must be broken, because the door bounces open again; the girl fails to notice it in her hurry to get to the car.</p>
<p>Disappointment washes over Lucifer. Clearly, the Detective moved at some point, and this teen and her family have taken up residence instead. And then his brain catches up with his eyes and his stomach lurches sickeningly, because the girl isn't a random teenager – that's <em>Beatrice</em>, no longer a small child perpetually covered in chocolate cake, but nearly grown, just a hairsbreadth shy of adulthood.</p>
<p>
  <em>How long has he been gone?</em>
</p>
<p>Trixie slides into the car. Lucifer watches, heart pounding, as she and her friend drive away.</p>
<p>She had yelled goodbye to mom and Dave. <em>Dave</em>. A shiver ripples down his spine as the implications of Trixie's words fully hit him.</p>
<p>The heartache strikes first, a blinding, shattering wound, and jealousy quickly follows, hot and wicked and ugly. And then betrayal, dark and poisonous, and he laughs bitterly at himself, knowing he has no right to feel betrayed. They both knew the precariousness of their situation. They made no promises to each other.</p>
<p>But these rational thoughts do nothing to lessen the pain.</p>
<p>The door still hangs ajar, and he senses her approaching even before she appears; the entire situation reminds him of some terribly sappy scene in a bad romcom, right down to the nearly comedic disbelief on Chloe's face when she reaches out, grumbling, to catch hold of the doorknob and sees him standing slack-jawed on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>For a moment, they simply stare at each other, and a wild thought races through Lucifer's mind – if this <em>was</em> a bad romcom, she would leap into his arms, and they would kiss, and all would be forgiven. He'd swear to stay and love her forever, and then they'd drive off into the sunset together while the credits rolled.</p>
<p>Instead, she steps through the doorway, turning quickly to close the door behind her, then leaning stiffly against it with her hands tucked behind her back, her expression hesitant, guarded.</p>
<p>"Who is Dave?" he finally chokes out. She purses her lips and ducks her head, avoiding his gaze; it's all the answer he needs. He takes a step back, wings yearning to burst forth, desperately wanting to be somewhere else, <em> anywhere </em>but here. But she takes a deep breath and looks at him, and the tentative hope in her eyes pins him in place.</p>
<p>"Can you stay?" she asks.</p>
<p>He clenches his fists, grits his teeth, and gives her the truth. "Not yet."</p>
<p>She takes an unsteady breath and looks upward, blinking rapidly. He watches as she wars with herself, wondering if her pain mirrors his own. But she keeps herself in check, bringing her gaze level with his once more. She lifts her hand, turns her palm toward herself; the ring sparkles impressively in the sunlight.</p>
<p>"Your husband," he says. He feels oddly numb.</p>
<p>"Fiancé." Her tone is flat. "The wedding is still six months away."</p>
<p>He can't bear to stand here a moment longer, looking at her with another man's heart wrapped around her finger. "Congratulations," he whispers, forcing the word out around the lump in his throat. "I wish you all the happiness in the world."</p>
<p>He gives in to the maddening itch between his shoulder blades; he hears her gasp as his wings spring free.</p>
<p>He tosses a feather on the sidewalk when he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>IV.</p>
<p>He comes at twilight, his wings stirring up a slight whirlwind of sand as he touches down, feather-light, on the beach. <em>Their </em>beach. She stands alone, barefoot at the convergence of earth and water, the ocean black and ominous under the purpling sky, waves capped with fire from the setting sun.</p>
<p>He speaks her name, watches the tension gather in her shoulders as she turns.</p>
<p>"You have some nerve coming here."</p>
<p>He welcomes her cutting tone, the restrained fury in her expression; he deserves both, he knows. She balls her hands at her sides, white-knuckled, and for a blessed moment he thinks she will actually strike him. She would draw blood – a righteous punishment for the hurt he's inflicted upon her over the years – and he would give himself over to her gladly, with relief; he would revel in her retribution.</p>
<p>But she doesn't need her fists to hurt him. She never has.</p>
<p>"I could have been happy," she whispers. "I could have had a life with someone. Love. A friend to have my back. A <em> partner</em>."</p>
<p>The deliberate choice of that word, a title he'd once cherished – a title he'd carried with pride and no small amount of incredulous joy – is not lost on him.</p>
<p>She drops her face into her hands; her fingers are bare. His breath hitches.</p>
<p>"I thought you – what about your fiancé?"</p>
<p>Her palms muffle her short, bitter laugh. When she pulls her hands away to glare at him, her eyes glisten.</p>
<p>"He left. Like you did. I guess I should thank you for the practice." Barbed words, petty and harsh, but true; he doesn't refute them.</p>
<p>His jaw clenches. He cannot imagine how any mortal lucky enough to capture her heart could ever let it go. "Then he was a fool."</p>
<p>She takes a trembling step toward him. "Was he? He realized I didn't love him, not the way he loved me. How could I, when I was still holding out for you?"</p>
<p>"I never asked you to wait for me." He nearly chokes on the shameful inadequacy of his own defense.</p>
<p>"Didn't you? You came back to me, again and again. How could I not have hope?" Her tears cling to her eyelashes, and she doesn't wipe them away.</p>
<p>He opens his mouth; no words come. Guilt, all-encompassing, swells in his throat, strangles his lungs, shreds his heart.</p>
<p>"I never want to see you again," she says. Her words, spoken in a tone as cold and distant as a far-flung star, tear into him with all the brutal destruction of a second damnation; he burns as if he's fallen once more.</p>
<p>He drops a feather on the sand when he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>V.</p>
<p>She doesn't want to see him, so this time, he comes at night. He steals in under the shadow of the new moon, his footfalls noiseless against the plush carpet of her bedroom.</p>
<p>She is older, thinner; time has honed her beauty into something silvery and cold, delicately poised at the coda of life. Her hair is the color of the moonlight missing from the night sky, as if she had pulled it down from the heavens and imbued herself with it, a wintry reflection of her younger self. Even in her sleep, a frown worries her face, wrinkles etched across her forehead, beside her mouth, at the corners of her eyes. One hand stretches toward the empty space beside her, arthritic fingers tangled in the sheet.</p>
<p>She sleeps alone, and this is his fault, he knows.</p>
<p>He's used to shouldering the blame for a multitude of sins that aren't his; he's carried that burden for millennia. He resents it, certainly, but that guilt, that shame, belongs to humanity, and ignoring the infinite weight of their regrets became second nature for him long ago.</p>
<p>But this – her tragically empty bed, her unbearable loneliness – eats away at him, a raw and aching wound that will not heal, punishment without the hope of redemption. She begged him to stay, and he left.</p>
<p>And he left.</p>
<p>And he left.</p>
<p>He knows he'll cut his heart again and again on the vicious edge of his own sin - sharper and more devastating than any celestial blade - long after she dies, long after she finds love and joy once again in the Silver City. Her eventual homecoming will not erase his cruelties. There will be no balm of forgiveness to soothe his riven soul.</p>
<p>He tucks a feather in her outstretched hand when he leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>VI.</p>
<p>Chloe wakes to find herself in front of a door.</p>
<p>The door is large and imposing, the thick wood blackened with age, the handle impossibly ornate. It looks oddly out of place, set into a ragged stone outcropping streaked with soot.</p>
<p>Something she desires waits behind this door - something she wants very much. It calls to her, hypnotic and insistent, an itch deep in her soul compelling her to scratch. She stretches out a hand and gently grasps the handle.</p>
<p>Pain blossoms across her other palm, a cold so intense it burns. She hisses, stumbling away from the door, clutching her injured hand to her chest and glaring down at it to assess the damage.</p>
<p>She grips a handful of frayed feathers, emanating cold like tiny icicles; they glow faintly, like distant starlight. She stares at them, brows knit in confusion.</p>
<p>The memory comes to her slowly, as if traveling from a great distance.</p>
<p>The hospital. The incessant beeping of machines all around her, the irritation of various tubes inserted uncomfortably into her body. Beatrice, grown, with gray hair at her temples, holding Chloe's hand as fiercely as she held back her tears. Her own voice, weak with age and illness but still demanding, insistent - <em>I need them, Trixie, please, I can't leave without them</em>. Beatrice pressing five threadbare, ragged feathers into her palm, her lips against Chloe's forehead – <em>I love you, mom</em>.</p>
<p>And then – here. The door. The long, meandering corridor, other doors interspersed randomly in the black stone. The ash falling soundlessly from the turbulent gray sky.</p>
<p>"I made it," she whispers, and the feathers in her hands exude sudden warmth at her words, their glow intensifying, as if she clutches a miniature sun.</p>
<p>Five feathers, one for each time he came back, each time he left her – again and again.</p>
<p>Five feathers, proof of the worst of her guilt: the merciless words and relentless pain she dealt to one she loved, a lifelong mission that began as nothing more than a dark inkling in her heart the first time she took him into her bed.</p>
<p>Five feathers representing a blasphemous path of her own making, an intentional bridge to eternal damnation; she holds them close to her heart, the thrill of victory coursing through her veins.</p>
<p>The feathers tug at her hand, urging her onward. They know where they belong.</p>
<p>She’ll follow them to him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title for this story comes from a tag <a href="https://thebibliosphere.tumblr.com/">thebibliosphere</a> used on a tumblr post that immediately got stuck in my head and demanded to be used for something.</p>
<p>Thanks for reading! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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